Abrasions
by Shade Embry
Summary: Doggett can't find the words to tell his CID partner he's been sent to the X-Files. How can he say goodbye?


TITLE: Abrasions  
AUTHOR: Brittany "Thespis" Frederick  
E-MAIL: baltimorelt@yahoo.com  
SPOILERS: Within/Without  
RATING: PG for language  
CATEGORY: Vignette, Doggett POV  
SUMMARY: I can't find the words to tell you I'm  
leaving you.  
DISCLAIMER: All nonoriginal content belongs to Chris  
Carter, 1013, and FOX. Agent Stark Patrick and all new  
content/ideas et cetera belong to me and I'm proud of  
it. Archive's okay, with my permission.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I finally got my chance to see  
"Without" tonight, and Robert Patrick's performance in  
the final hospital scene, the look on his face, the  
sound of his voice, blew me away. If my parents hadn't  
been in the room, I probably would have cried. And I  
knew that demanded a story out of me. So here's my  
best attempt.  
  
  
I see your picture  
You have only been gone ten days  
But already I'm wasting away  
Will I see you again  
Whether far or soon?  
But I need you to know  
That I care, and I miss you  
- Incubus  
  
It's been the same ever since the case landed in my  
lap. I'm always walking into the middle of something.  
I feel unimportant in the office I've been in for the  
past four years. And you're always there as if you  
knew I was coming. It's always the same.  
"Hey."  
"Hey."  
"Am I interrupting..."  
"It'll wait."  
"How are you?"  
"Surviving."  
"I meant to call..."  
"So did I, but you know..."  
"Listen, could you run this down for me?" or "Could  
you pull up this file?" or "Would you mind handling  
this lead?"  
"No problem, John."  
"I owe you."  
"No, you don't."  
Pause. "I need to get back..."  
"I'll let you know."  
End of conversation.  
My hand is on the doorknob now, and I can hear you  
working on something, keys of your keyboard clattering  
under your fingers. They tell me you've been keeping  
shorter office hours now, that my desk is still  
waiting for me. That you're still waiting. And how  
will I tell you?  
Yesterday, in the hospital with Agent Scully, I found  
all the words. I can't find them now. But then again,  
yesterday, in the hospital with Agent Scully, I almost  
- no. I did lose it.  
  
********  
  
I step outside her hospital room and force myself to  
breathe in the empty hallway, where only the cold  
walls can bear witness.  
Do you know I saw you tonight, in her? In her, as I  
was holding her in the Praise kid's room, as she was  
losing it like I am now? I was terrified, do you know  
that? I thought it could have been you. If you were  
here, it could have been you. I imagined, for a  
moment, that you were in her place, that you were the  
one this goddamned alien bounty hunter or whatever the  
fuck it is threw clear across the room, almost  
strangled just like Agent Landau. The thought scared  
the hell out of me. I had to fight not to accidentally  
say your name. That would look good, John Doggett,  
task force leader and big man on campus, uttering the  
wrong name. Yeah, that would back up all the  
cold-hearted, hard-ass B.S. I've been giving Scully  
and Skinner and everyone else who gets in my way. He's  
a cold, unflinching son of a bitch, but he seems to  
have this attachment to someone else whose name is the  
first one on his mind. Yeah, right. That fits the big  
bad wolf profile real well.  
Deep down inside, I know I can probably be called  
every name in the book. You could see it in Scully's  
eyes when I told her she wasn't getting rid of me. I'm  
not welcome. I'm the Mulder substitute. The man who's  
looking in all the wrong places. The thick-headed,  
egotistical, self-deluded rampaging crusader. Maybe  
Skinner's right. Maybe I am just a pawn. But these  
people, they don't know who I am, what I'm going  
through. Just the thought of you while I'm standing in  
a hospital room in Arizona surrounded by the B.S. that  
made up Fox Mulder's life makes me depressed. I know  
exactly what you're doing, sitting at the computer  
with your files and your form reports and your Incubus  
CD, and I have to rein myself in not to call you from  
the pay phone, even if it is just to say hello. You're  
right, this case demands my attention, all of it. But  
I've developed a shell, just these few days. Because  
all I can see in anyone is how they're not you.  
Because without you to back me up, to hold me in  
check, I become this person I don't know anymore.  
They're right, of course. I put any of this in my  
report and Kersh will probably send me to Terre Haute,  
Indiana. But when the hell did it come to this? We  
never left anything out of our reports. There was none  
of this "that may have looked like Mulder, but it  
wasn't him" conspiracy, alien-ship, human-anomaly  
crap. It was straight, one hundred percent. Maybe it  
isn't crystal clear but we made it damn well straight.  
They want me to hold back and I know you'd chew me out  
for thinking about it. This is a damn nightmare. It's  
like working at your dream job with your best friend  
and then all of a sudden I wake up in Galveston, Texas  
with the heat and the cattle and the malaria. And they  
say women don't have special powers.  
I pretend to be the by-the-book, hard-ass G-man  
around all of them. For a large part, I am. But my  
guard is up here. Because you were the only person to  
ever truly bring it down, aside from Luke, aside from  
Lynn and Nina. Monica, maybe, but not entirely. I  
won't show them who I am because they're not telling  
me the truth. Because I don't want them to know.  
Because honestly, this time, maybe I can't handle the  
truth (the movie aside). I've been stuck in something  
I don't know square one about and it's fucking with my  
head. I fought myself down maybe a half-dozen times  
today expecting to see you, saying something meant for  
you and meeting Gene Crane's eyes instead. This is  
wrong, dammit. This is wrong. All of this is wrong.   
You are my partner. That office - our office - is my  
life. Not this half-assed, wild alien-hunting chase  
and all this convoluted doublespeak everyone seems to  
know but me. I won't live my life like this. I won't  
live it without you. And you know and I know that I  
want to come back, that I would in a heartbeat if I  
had a chance. And that when this all blows over, I  
will come back to you. For my sanity, I don't really  
have a choice.  
I've never thought this about many people, but I need  
you. And I wonder if you need me.  
I turn and head back into Scully's room. The faster  
this is over, the faster I can walk away.  
Wherever you are, I'm here. Waiting for you. Waiting  
for any of this, anything at all, to make any sense.  
Right now, though ... I can feel the sinking feeling in  
my stomach. I just don't want to think what it means.  
  
********  
  
I can't find the words to tell you I'm leaving you.  
That Kersh, that son of a bitch Deputy Director, has  
assigned me to the land of ultimate B.S., consigned me  
to my own personal hell, until I can find him the  
"facts" he wants. Skinner warned me, I know that he  
did. He told me not to tell what wasn't black and  
white. But I can't do that. You'd have my head on a  
platter. You may yet now.  
I walk into the office and steal a look at my desk. I  
suppose I could have it moved downstairs, but I think  
I'll leave it here. I can get another one. You seem to  
like leaving it here. It looks so perfect here. The  
object of hope where there isn't any.  
You look up from another form and your eyes light up.  
It's the first time we've seen each other in days and  
while I fight to say anything you smile. I can't find  
a way to break your heart, but mine shatters knowing  
I'll never see that beautiful smile again. Can you  
read the sorrow in my eyes, or are you ignoring it? It  
hits me that I'll never know.  
My voice is quiet; I hold back the tears. "Hey,  
sport."  
"Hey, John." You're matching me, and I think you know.  
"You're home."  
Home. Not 'back' or 'here' or 'okay,' but home. And  
technically, home may be Falls Church but I think the  
word fits. Four years made this place home. It still  
is; I'm just moving out. But it will always be home.  
You will always be home.   
I try to fill the silence.  
"Yeah. Stark, I..." I have to look away from you for a  
moment. "I... I'm not coming back."  
Your heart tears in your eyes. "What are you saying?"  
you demand of me, standing out of the chair, pleading  
with me to say it isn't so and I can see it all  
falling apart in your eyes, the reflection of all that  
I feel. The truth is that it is all falling apart, me  
and you, four years, all of this. My friend, my  
partner, my world ... and I can't take you with me. If  
you only knew how I'd tried, bargained for you, then  
come to my senses. You deserve better than this place  
I've been consigned to and inwardly we both know it,  
at least I think so. But what I think is hardly ever  
right in these last few days.  
"I mean..." my voice cracks. "I've been assigned to the  
X-Files."  
"John..." The way you say my name, that anguish, I can  
barely stand it. "Oh, God."  
"I'm sorry."   
"I ... I know ... " Your hands are shaking and the mist is  
coming to your eyes. Don't cry. You can be strong. No  
matter that I want to cry with you. I know you're  
stronger than that. As for me, well, I don't really  
know anymore. "Tell them you won't do it."  
"I can't do that." I look at the floor. "I know. I've  
tried."  
"What am I ... what are we ..."  
"I don't know." I meet your eyes again and reach for  
you. You put your arms around me and bury your head in  
my neck like you always do when the world is closing  
in on you. You can't say anything, but I can feel you  
cry, feel the life drain out of you. I rest my head on  
your shoulder and look at the office one last time in  
the silence, trying to capture every detail, trying to  
remember. It will be a long and difficult road for me,  
for both of us; I'll need to remember this brief  
shining moment in my life when everything was perfect.  
I hold you close to me, listen to your breathing come  
harder to you, dying inside. Part of me breathes in  
you and that part is hurting with you with each choked  
breath. "I promise," I say, "I promise you ... this  
isn't goodbye. You know that, right?"  
In all likelihood, the idea is but a dream. They will  
give you another partner eventually, and I'll be down  
in the basement. Cases will claim our attention. Phone  
calls, social activities, all of that will become less  
and less likely, as much as we might fight the turning  
of the tide. It just isn't as easy as we'd like it to  
be.  
I pull back. I want to look in your eyes one last  
time. But I can't hold your gaze that long. It reminds  
me of everything I needed and all that I had and don't  
anymore.  
"I ... I'll clean out my desk tomorrow morning."  
You nod, trying to be strong for me. "I'll be here."  
"I'll call you." I pause under the agony of this  
separation. "I should ... they'll need me ..."  
"I understand," you say, though you don't.  
Fighting the urge to do anything but, I take your  
hand, my fingers closing over yours, and give it one  
last firm squeeze before I turn and walk out the door.  
I can hear you collapse into your chair as the door  
follows behind me, the sound of your tears almost  
immediate. My own silent mourning, my own crying,  
follows soon after, though Scully will never see it.  
You don't know it, but I don't leave right away. We've  
done too much, and you mean too much, for me to simply  
walk away. I stand there, in the shadows, watching you  
fight to compose yourself through the inch or so that  
the door remains open, desperately wanting to be there  
for you, desperately wanting you to stay with me as I  
stand in this hallway which reminds me of that hallway  
at MacLaren, those bitter memories all too  
precognizant.   
You run your hands through your hair, and absently  
your fingers brush your forehead. We are both reminded  
of the night your sister died when you showed up  
straight from the hospital, and I held you in the  
foyer while you cried. Your fingers trail across that  
spot on your forehead where I kissed you gently,  
trying to assure you everything would be all right.  
Nothing will be all right, not now, not ever.  
And standing there, I watch you put your head in your  
hands and cry. And it breaks my heart more than you  
will ever know.   
I turn away when I can't bear it anymore, and start on  
my way toward the basement, toward my "new life." And  
inside, I die a quiet death.  
Wherever Mulder is, I hope he knows.  
  
I wish I had a river I could skate away on  
I made my baby cry  
She tried hard to help me  
She put me at ease  
She loved me so  
Wish I had a river I could skate away on  
I'm so hard to handle  
I'm selfish and I'm sad  
I've gone and lost the best baby that I ever had  
Made my baby say goodbye  
I wish I had a river I could skate away on  
- Robert Downey Jr., "River"  
  
=====  
"Oh, for God's sake, please be somebody else."  
- Lewis Black  
Natalie: Two guys have ascended 5 miles into the sky. They walked up a wall of ice and are preparing to knock on the door of heaven itself. There's really no end to what we can do. You know what the trick is?   
Dan: What?   
Natalie: Get in the game!   
- "The Quality of Mercy at 29K", "Sports Night" 


End file.
